The Darkness Between Stars
by Nitrospira
Summary: "You've alienated my favorite daughter." Thanos accused. But there are more accurate words for what Gamora endured at the hands of Ronan.


**The Darkness Between Stars  
**

* * *

"_You've alienated my favorite daughter." Thanos accused. But there are more accurate words for what Gamora endured at the hands of Ronan. _

* * *

The only comfort she drew from having a completely miserable life was that she never had to fear the unknown. When you're teetering at the very edge of sanity and holding on by a delicate thread of something too ugly and perverted to call hope, change can only leave things the way they are or somehow make them better.

Or so Gamora thought, striding towards what could only be described as a throne. A _throne_ for heavens sake, situated at the end of a long and dark corridor.

She gave her sister a sideways glance. Their steps were in tandem, and by the gleam in Nebula's cerulean eyes, so were their thoughts. As ruthless as their father was, they were wary to find out _exactly_ what kind of mental illness drove this Kree to strike a bargain with the most powerful being in the universe.

"Master Ronan," they spoke in unison, bending a knee once they were within several feet of the darkly dressed figure.

"You are the sisters Gamora and Nebula?" his voice was a low rumble, but they would not have needed cybernetically enhanced hearing to have picked up on every syllable.

"_Yes."_ Their replies echoed across the chamber.

She didn't recall much else from that meeting or the many others following it. Niceties, carefully worded vows of loyalty… but he gave them more authority aboard his ship than either of them expected. If he was the Captain, they were lieutenants. And while he was harsh and demanded utmost perfection, the sisters had been subjected to much worse.

_Much worse, _Gamora reminded herself, stitching together a deep cut within her abdomen. Despite a high threshold for pain, the nerves in that particular area were dense. And the proton cleaver she'd idiotically not managed to dodge had dug deep into her tissue, pushing her regenerative capacity to its limit.

"What happened?"

That voice – that _particular_ voice – nearly caused her to leap from behind her crate and sprint away in humiliation.

"Master Ronan." She replied, attempting to keep her expression neutral as she rose to her feet, hiding her needle discreetly. While her scant attire allowed for excellent mobility, she wished there was a bit more garment between the ugly gash over her stomach and the piercing eyes of Ronan.

_What is he even _doing_ in the cargo hold?_ She mentally cried out.

"I asked you a question, Gamora." He pressed, somehow even more threatening this time around.

She sighed heavily, shaking her head before admitting, "While obtaining resources from a Nova outpost, I was struck during combat."

"What sort of weapon caused this damage?" he pressed on, dark eyes finally leaving her abdomen to rest on her face.

"It wasn't a weapon." She replied despondently. "Just a piece of mining equipment."

He stepped closer to her, bring a pale blue hand close to her vibrant green. "I recognize this kind of wound. Proton cleavers are banned in most colonies."

Her eyes widened. Partly because of his assessment, and mostly because he was palpating around the wound. Noticing its tenderness, he suggested, "You should have informed me. We will divert course and seek a healer."

"_No."_ The word left her mouth more quickly and decisively than she wanted. She didn't trust strangers with sharp tools anywhere near her body. Not after everything that Thanos had subjected her to.

"No?" repeated Ronan, taken aback by this abject refusal.

"It doesn't need attention. I'll be fine." She hurriedly explained. Then, with a deep breath, she added:

"_Please_, master."

He was silent for much longer than she appreciated, and it would have caused a lesser person to fidget beneath that steely gaze. But without any warning, she was struck over the head by the back of a hand that was both lightning fast and incredibly strong. She could only gasp before darkness overtook her senses.

* * *

Consciousness is a funny thing… sometimes constant, sometimes like a butterfly – fluttering in and out of the mortal realm.

Gamora had glimpses of a dark room lined by strange objects. _Kree _relics, she realized. Likely because she had been brought to Ronan's quarters, but there was no way for her to tell for certain.

What she did _know_ was that she was laid upon a cold glass table and her wound was lathered with creams and ointments she'd never seen before. And that her master was close. _Far_ too close.

But she was in no position to argue, debilitated as she was. It frustrated her that not _once_ in her training did it cross Thanos' mind to teach healing rather than destruction. Not that it mattered now… she'd already been humiliated. Would he cast her away after the damage to her body had been mitigated? Or worse…

Would her father find out?

The memory of pain welled up within her brain, causing her to cry out.

Rather than the anger she expected, Ronan's face become concerned. Even puzzled.

"What do you feel, Gamora?" he asked sharply. "These remedies are ancient, but they should not aggravate the pain."

"No, master." She sighed. "I am just ashamed to have caused you this trouble. My father did not mean for me to be a burden."

The pinpoints of light coming from the roof were not enough for her to read his expression.

"Your father is not aboard this ship. He is not the one you serve." Growled Ronan.

Ah, so he was angry now. Excellent.

"I know that." She replied weakly, wishing she could just feign unconsciousness once again.

"But I understand your concern." He added softly, placing a hand behind her head to help her sit up. "My own father was only a metalworker on Kree, but his expectations were staggering. I should have hated him, but after I lost everything during to a Xandarian invasion, his lessons were the only reasons I stayed alive. And his hammer become the only weapon I knew."

She stared at him, the weight of this confession bearing down on her in ways she didn't quite understand.

"History is not meant to be ignored, Gamora." He explained earnestly, caging her legs against the table as he studied her unquavering gaze. "But the moment it becomes a weakness is when you should cast it aside."

Nodding slowly, she hoped that the proximity of his body to hers would end quickly. The only bodies that ever came close to hers were of men and women that were about to die. But the energy Ronan emanated was oddly magnetic. Perhaps…

Her train of thought derailed as he pulled himself away, dragging her off the table as he did.

"Go." He commanded. "Prepare yourself to leave within the hour."

"Master –" she began, eyes wide with panic.

"Your sister has already been briefed on our latest goal." He interrupted. "She can inform you of the details."

She thanked the gods that he'd disappeared deeper into the room before a relieved grin crossed her face.


End file.
